"Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. You do not believe me. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home.
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